


New Miracle

by Quitebrilliantindeed



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Cheesy, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Found Families, Gen, LESBIAN MINAKO, Persona 3 Portable - Freeform, Post-Game, cheesy as heck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quitebrilliantindeed/pseuds/Quitebrilliantindeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After it's all said and done, SEES starts a tradition. (Spoilers, Post-Game.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> This is the cheesiest, hokiest, thing I have ever written and I don't care because I weep for Minako Arisato every goddamn day of my life.

“This is just a proposition but—”

Certainly, the object had been on their minds—maybe not its fate, but certainly its significance. Had she ever been without it? No one could recall a time where it wasn’t within her arm’s reach—even at the beach, while she played in the tides, they saw it in her bag, hiding between a bottle of sunscreen and her red-and-pink phone. Strange, Yukari had once said, how such an outgoing girl would keep something somewhat isolating at her side so religiously. She replied that she just liked music. A lot. And she swung her hips to it. She shared headphones. She shared music.

Even if the thought had crossed their minds, no one expected Mitsuru to be the one to suggest anything about it. Still, she stood there anyway, the short stick in one hand, tangled cord in the other, as if to offer a holy item, elegantly simple, to its crowd of believers.

“—Wha? Man, that’s weird from you.” Junpei’s mouth squeezed into a tight line, not so much unpleasantly as it was surprised. “Kinda goofy.”

“I always thought you were the type to enjoy _goofy_ , Iori.” Mitsuru tutted.

A silence fell across the group—but it was not still. Smiles passed from one member to the next, as if the laughter was just waiting for the right chance to burst.

“…Well, I’m in.” Akihiko stood. It was always Akihiko.

“Then let’s draw straws.”

\---

The music is familiar for Yukari.

She listens to it every morning on the monorail, eyes unfocused as the train moves across the water. Aigis sits beside her, doing just the same. Or so she thinks. She’s can’t be entirely sure if Aigis—or anyone—is really feeling the same things—but she can hazard a damn good guess from the way her eyes gleam.

She rolls the mp3 player in her hands, gaze still fixed out the window. It’s early morning, and she’s tired. This song is so peaceful and sweet, she starts to think she might melt into the bench. But that’s silly. She stifles a laugh.

Actually, she sorted through the thing until she found this track. She wanted to listen to it first, simply because she remembered it. Or more specifically, she remembers sitting here like this last year, eyes unfocused, head drooping with sleep, only back then, Minako’s shoulder had nudged into hers, one headphone in hand, one on her ear.

“Wanna share?” She asked, blinking, grinning, totally innocent. Yukari is certain she made some sort of doubtful face in return (really, how the hell was she smiling like that at this hour),  but she _did_ accept the offer. It was maybe a week after they had met…maybe less? Yukari can’t remember. It was soon though. So soon. She was always so _friendly_ , it made it nearly impossible to say “no” to anything she offered. Not that she ever much wanted to in the first place.

The device falls silent. There’s a brief second where Yukari can hear everything—snores, the chatters of students, the whir of the car against the tracks. The next song starts.

It’s something loud now, brash and loud, too much _fun._

For some reason though, it’s this that makes her want to cry.

Her month feels long—like honey pouring from a bottle. The thing feels uncomfortable in her hands, the headphones heavy on her ears. The music plays like a soothing wash of flowers and sun, but her fingers keep slipping from the buttons again and again and again.

She’s looking forward to the next time.

\---

When Junpei’s turn rolls around, he’s scared out of his wits.

“Oh no. I can see it now. I’m gonna break the thing,” He mutters, as Yukari hands it to him. “Our Minako, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name….” He laughs nervously. Bad joke, he screams at himself. Bad joke.

“Relax,” She chides. “She pestered Mitsuru-senpai to make it operable during _the Dark Hour_. Something tells me even your stupid hands can’t mess that up.”

Oh yeah—she did some Plume of Dusk shit to it, right? He can’t help but wonder if that’s not a little extreme for a music player, but y’know, Minako’s word might as well have been law. She was the boss-man. Boss-woman. Boss…SEES-Boss. Whatever. He carefully puts on the headphones as Yukari watches impatiently, her foot tapping the ground.

“You’re gonna tune me out with that, aren’t you?”

“H-hey you did the same to me!” He turns it on, and is greeted by one loud, cheesy 80s song. It’s in English. He hasn’t a damned clue what they’re saying but it’s _great_. They used to jam to this, didn’t they? Late at night, in the lobby, jumping in the air until someone (Shinjiro, Mitsuru, definitely Yukari) got fed up enough to turn the speaker off.

Minako, unlike him, probably knew what they were saying. She was a smart cookie…way smarter than him. Smart enough to get kisses from the kind of hot chicks that were usually deemed out of everyone else’s league. She got _so_ much more action than him. Was there some sort of lesbian charm? Did girls dig other girls more than guys? It makes his head hurt.

Then again, he’s got his Chidori now—he thinks he’ll just stick with her.

“How do I look?” He poses, arm in the air.

“No, you’ve got to clip it on your shirt, silly…” Yukari snatches it from his hand and does just that. Junpei thinks he sees her falter for a second. But he thinks it’s just his imagination.

“There.” She says. Junpei poses again—stretching even further this time, till his hand could just about touch the sky.

Yeah. Much better.

\---  
  
Apparently, getting the thing to Akihiko proved to be a challenge.

Of course, he can’t blame them—it is his fault. Roaming the word, fighting man and beast, going off the grid (save for a cell phone)…he’s not the easiest guy to contact. It takes a month for it to get to him—“delivery tag” is the phrase Mitsuru had icily used. She isn’t  angry though—he can tell. He’s known her long enough to know the difference. Amused… now, that sounded more accurate.

But trouble or not, it’s here. He has it. That’s what matters. Every beat of her music makes him feel alive—his punches fall in line with the tempo, filling them with heat, moving from his hands and into the bag. She’s there, he thinks. She’s right beside him. She’s in every punch, every breath, every move.

“How’s Shinji?” He pants below his breath, sweat entering his mouth. “Don’t let him be an idiot, okay?”  She doesn’t reply, of course. At least not in words. But he feels it—he feels her there. That’s better than words.

“I dunno—“ He pants “If heaven has you worrying about that stuff—but—“ His muscles ache, so vibrantly, so wonderfully. “--You better be taking care of yourself too.”

Minako was—is—strong. Stronger than anyone. She’s like the songs she listened to—varied and powerful, aggressive, yet caring—quick and commanding in a way that made you want to be near her. She was a woman of contradictions—so human and alive that anyone with half a brain had to take notice.

 If he can be half as strong as her, he’ll be happy.

\---

It takes just as long to go from Akihiko, back to Japan, as it did in reverse. Although, the problem this time is not finding the receiver—it’s the _sender_ finding a _post office._

Ken gets the device a month later than he should have—but it comes with a trinket and short note from Akihiko, and that makes his heart swell. More than ever, he feels a part of things.

He thought the delay would make him all the more eager to try it out—but he finds himself unable to touch it for the first week and a half. It sits unused on his desk, placed beside his studies, still so meager compared to those of his upperclassmen.

He can’t quite explain why he hesitates—it’s something that he doesn’t think words can describe, not now, maybe not ever. It’s guilt that drives him to finally pick it up—the thought of it going unused makes him so disappointed in himself that he can barely speak.

When he finally does it, it’s with great care. He makes sure the cord is untangled, the tiny display clean, then gingerly slips the headphones over his ears.

It’s such _fun_ music. There are songs on here he recognizes from school—songs his classmates found in TV shows, loud and colorful and unafraid…

He makes it through one song. And another. And another. The third song is the Featherman opening. He bites his lip so hard he thinks it might split, but he will not let himself cry—he can do this. He’s going to be an adult.

But he can’t, and he isn’t. Not yet. The tears start and he can’t make them stop. He curls up in the center of his bed, shutting off from the neatness of his room and the stacks of unreturned comics gathering dust beneath him. He doesn’t want to think anymore—not until this music stops.

\---

Ken is smiling brightly, face red and dirt-covered when he gives Fuuka the MP3 player. He places it into her palms, hands clasping over hers, earnest and satisfied. Something about that gesture touches her heart.

She likes to stop by and see his games. She doesn’t know a lot about soccer, or any sport outside of curling, but the details don’t matter much when it comes to friends. She’s so proud of him she can barely reply—no, not just him—she’s impressed with everyone.

That thought sticks in her mind as she clips the music player to her cardigan, ready to let Minako’s music carry her home. She’s been so busy these past few months. Schoolwork tends to mount quickly when university is on the horizon—even for her. But she’s never busy enough to miss this little ritual. She walks slowly, as if there’s no work waiting to be done, gentle pop songs streaming from the headphones. The sun is starting to set. Although crowds of people pass by around her, she feels as if she is alone—undisturbed by the noise and clamor.

Minako had songs from all over the world, it seems. Japanese and English are the most prevalent, but a smattering of other languages came forward from time to time. Fuuka finds that sweet somehow, as if Minako had somehow united the world singlehandedly.

Well, then again…

She lets her finger trace the length of the device. Cold metal, smooth plastic, a touch of glass. It’s pretty.

She wants to make something like this.

\---

Mitsuru comes in December, officially speaking, on business for her blossoming “Shadow Operatives” motion.

This is, of course, her main reason for the visit, but it certainly wasn’t just _fate_ that they had such perfect timing. She has a small meeting with Fuuka after the main one—mostly to talk about engineering support, but also to make the switch.

Fuuka seems to have briefly forgotten about it in the midst of the official business. Her mouth forms an ‘o’, and she reaches into her bag, giving the player with a soft laugh. Mitsuru can’t help but chuckle as well.

That night, she lies back against the hotel bed’s frame and takes the tiny thing into her hands. She carefully turns it between her finger, running them over the grooves and edges. She’s not sure why, per se, but she does feel like it’s the right thing to do. Observe, and then use. It’s a sort of moment of silence, she thinks, or a way to grieve. She smiles a little—for once, it doesn’t scare her not to know the answer.

She clicks the headphones into the jack, pulling back her hair so the clasps fit snugly over her ears. They’re a very nice model—unsurprisingly. Minako did always value her music.

She shuffles through a few songs. Their music tastes never did really line up—that was certainly part of it—but it was also somehow satisfying just to survey the sort of thing that had appealed to her.

“Oh.” No one is around to hear her, yet the sound still falls from her mouth.

She had shown her this song. And in turn, Minako had liked it enough to keep it with her.

Jupiter, Bringer of Jollity.

How… appropriate.

\---

It’s New Year’s Eve.

It was universally agreed by all of the ex-dormmates that the only place they could rightfully spend it at, was Tatsumi Port Island. Mitsuru-san, of course, had the funds to make that happen without a hitch.

It may not be their old dorm, but it’s their own place—at least for tonight. A spacious hotel room—clearly upscale, with two ends, one of the boys, one for the girls, and a common room that looks more like something you could find in an apartment.

Aigis packs surprisingly light—her maintenance may be far more obvious than human amenities, but it was truthfully, far less frequent.

They make something of a potluck out of it—Mitsuru-san caters the event lavishly, but that doesn’t stop them from bringing their own heart to it. Even Fuuka-san’s cooking looks edible—the rows of onigiri she lays out taste nearly as perfect as they appear.

They meet at the hotel room before heading out into the young night. The shrine is a bit of a walk from their address, but fifteen minutes means nothing against tradition. They run to it, like they’re greeting an old friend. Akihiko-san races Junpei-san to the slide, Yukari-san laughs, helping Mitsuru-san up the jungle gym—even Fuuka-san can climb it faster than her. Ken-san is with Koromaru-san, chasing one another in circles after paying their respects to the dog’s since parted master.

Aigis finds herself smiling against the loneliness all the way back to the hotel.

The senior members pour drinks, while their juniors settle for cider. Everyone is growing up. It’s 11:35, and for all intents and purposes, they are happy.

Aigis is too. Even with the empty space hanging at her side.

Mitsuru-san catches her eyes for the briefest of moments—Aigis wills a smile to her face, and accepts the drink offered to her.

There is, underneath the celebration, a quiet remembrance. Last year, they did not celebrate so happily. They were not sad, nor indecisive, but they carried a weight on their shoulders—and an impossible fear. They were the spirit of fierce optimism back then—and now they are the spirit of joyful remembrance—and thankfulness.

New Year’s comes in with the bells, and Junpei-san throws his glass into the air.

“To Minako!” He shouts, voice hoarse with emotion, yet so utterly happy—or even proud—that her brightness shines through. They all echo his toast, similar feelings intertwining their words.

The laughter grows and the games continue. They touch, they hug, they laugh, they cry. It is, perhaps, the first time they have ever felt “victory.”

Mitsuru-san soon comes to her side. They don’t speak—she simply takes Aigis’s shoulder, mechanics covered by a light coat, and gives it a gentle squeeze. They quietly excuse themselves to the balcony. No one worries—because they all know the reasons.

The pair stands in silence for minutes, listening to bells, and the laughter inside, feeling the cold air, fresh and clean against their faces. Mitsuru-san’s smile is peaceful—it puts Aigis at ease.

She then turns to her, and unfolds her hand. The MP3 player rests in her palm, headphones neatly wound beside it.

For a moment, Aigis feels something she can only assume is “breathlessness.”

Mitsuru-san nods gently, closing her eyes with a satisfaction that Aigis can feel inside her own plumed heart. Carefully, as if she were touching the face of that woman she loved, Aigis takes it into her hands, and clutches it close to her chest.

“Thank you.” She whispers. It’s a formality that cannot even begin to express the depth of what she feels. The music player seems to have a heartbeat of its own—alive and warm against her chest.

Mitsuru-san smiles, and Aigis sees the glint of a tear running down her cheek.

She feels the same occurrence on her own.

“This is our…tradition now.” It feels good to affirm the thought—to speak it aloud. Mitsuru-san hums deeply in agreement, and they stand shoulder-to-shoulder, eyes up, looking to the bright, round, moon.

“I’m sure…she’s happy.” Mitsuru-san says in a voice that is thick—but not despaired. “…Um. Out there.”

“Yes,” Aigis swallows the sob that rises in her throat. This, she does know, because Minako always smiles. “I know she is.”

\---

As the others sleep, Aigis sits outside.

The first song she hears speaks with a feeling so full, so everlasting, that she feels it should have been written from her own heart. She cries and she smiles, and looks up to the stars, awake, but unalone:

_“I will never leave you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I'll let you all headcanon what each (unnamed) song was, but I did have one in mind for most of them.
> 
> (Obvs though, Mitsuru names hers, and Aigis was listening to....... Memories of You. ;u;)
> 
> Happy January 31st everyone. I took time out of essay writing to finish this up, because Minako is the light of my life.
> 
> Do it for her!!!! <3


End file.
